An Embarrassing Lack of Tact

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Allow me to be very honest. I did at one point believe that I was good with members of the opposite sex. I was confident and flirtatious. I was worry-free and bold. I think my arrival at BYU has changed this. I do not describe my newfound ineptitude as a tale of woe; I am hopefully taking it in good stride. I am finding humor behind the fact that suddenly I am reverting back to the ways of a moronic, socially retarded freshman in high school that giggles stupidly every time “boy of the month” goes by. I think that the term “freshmen” is more a state of mind than a state of age. When I was a senior, I was the epitome of cool. Don’t contest this. I was cool. I knew what to say and how to say it. I perfected the charming smile, and girl drama was stupid, and freshmen girls were annoying. But now that I’ve been slapped with a giant F on my forehead, I feel like I am running around campus asking for a wedgie.
I’ve had several incidents to prove my new freshmenism. I’m not proud of them. But they are funny as heck so I will capitalize on my stupidities for your entertainment. The first affair was about two months into the semester when a friendship of mine was not progressing into the first date phase as quickly as I would have hoped (Those who know me well know that patience is unfortunately a virtue that I do not posses). I passed (we will call him subject A) on campus and we said hello, and then my embarrassing lack of tact came into play, and I yelled, in front of everybody in the vicinity, in a scream that I’m sure people heard from the Wilk to the Maeser, “Hey! When are you going to stop saying hello and ask me on a date?!” It was one of the least tactless moments of my life. It was a moment where everything went silent and you are almost certain that everybody in the entire world has zeroed in on you and looking at you with mocking disbelief. It was a moment where I turned away from the situation in complete shock that you could be so endlessly stupid.
And on the opposite end of the spectrum from completely and shockingly forward, I embarrassed myself once more by being too afraid to act. I’d been flirting (fairly successfully) with subject B at a certain café on campus but had to run to work before I could catch any personal information about him besides his name. So of course I dined there basically every subsequent day in hopes that I might see him again. As the days turned into weeks and the hopes turned into desperation, I finally saw him again. And it was terrible. My hopes had been built so high that I was completely at a loss for words and could do nothing but stare stupidly and obviously at him. What is worse is that my friends happened to stop by, and when I mentioned that subject B was there, all they could do was gape at him, making it very clear to him and everyone else in the café that we were talking about him. I never thought that I would be this girl! This creepy stalker girl in movies. I would never be caught dead doing this when I was a senior, and yet, as a freshman I find myself committing one of the main freshmen faux pas. Great.
It all culminated in a terrible act of impulsion and over-confidence when I suggested to a boy 7 years my senior that he ask me out. To which he very kindly responded that that would be like dating his daughter.
I blame the fact that I am a freshman and prone to behave stupidly. It’s written in the freshman rule book that you must be frivolous and silly and downright embarrassing. Oh the agony.

A Classy Change of Location

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From about ages 8 to 11, Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys looked down at me from my wall, my own personal guardian angel, the ultimate status symbol of “cool.” This was the first instance of my personality taking control of my room, and soon next to Nick Carter came Britney Spears, Jessica Simpson, 98 Degrees, N’Sync (even though they were Backstreet Boys rival) LFO, and any other picture that I could yank out of a magazine and masking tape to my wall (except NEVER the Spice Girls because I HATED the Spice Girls. Mainly because my older sister told me they were lame). Over time, the four walls in my room became scarcely visible, and I liked it that way. Chaotic masses of twenty of the same famous gaurdian angels keeping watch over me. My personality was defined by the images of others, these famous “celebs” that dominated my room decor. I was not yet Sierra, only just a fledgling that liked to have something all her own.